


Things That Happen When We're Alone

by writerdragonfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Blizzards, Card Games, M/M, Prompt Fic, Snowball Fight, Snowed In, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerdragonfly/pseuds/writerdragonfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek tries not to think about his feelings, Stiles is incredibly tired, and their road trip home together is waylaid by a blizzard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Museohmuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Museohmuse/gifts).



The trip back to Beacon Hills so far is a long and tiring one. He’s not even sure where they are anymore, other than some highway in Washington (or have they made it to Oregon yet?). It’s been a few hours, that he knows at least.

 

It’s snowing heavily enough that they have to pull over to the side of the road about six hours in. Stiles’ jeep isn’t really made for winter traveling, but they need to find a hotel or risk ending up getting stuck out here. His phone doesn’t have a signal, but Stiles seems to have enough of one to boot up Google Maps and find the closest hotel.

 

When they get there, very slowly, it turns out to be a sleazy hole in the wall motel. But neither one of them really wants to risk getting stuck in an attempt to find another one. The only vacancy is apparently the honeymoon suite and he barely manages to stop Stiles from cracking one of what he’s sure would be a series of several jokes. The pretty young woman behind the counter gives it to them with an apology and a discount she could probably get fired for, but she seems a bit past caring--so is he, given that it’s nearly two in the morning and there’s a blizzard going on.

 

The room itself is less tacky than he’d expected. There _is_ a mirror on the ceiling, but the bed doesn’t vibrate and isn’t shaped like a heart, so he’s decided to take what he can get.

 

They don’t speak as they peel off layers of wet clothing and their completely soaked shoes. His socks make an incredibly disgusting squelching sound as he stands to turn up the heat, and he hurries to peel them off as well. Stiles manages to sneak into the bathroom to shower first, so he starts hanging their clothes off any horizontal surface he can find to get them drying.

 

He’s leaning against the wall over the heating register, drying off what little he still has on when someone knocks. The shower is still going, so he walks to the door and peers through the peep-hole. The check-in girl is bundled in coats and carrying oversized plastic sack and a couple of blankets, so he opens it up.

 

"I figured you could use a few extra blankets. I've got some coats and gloves and such here, too. They’re mostly ones people left but they’ve all been washed. I’m sorry I don’t have any extra clothes too, we only keep the winter wear in case of storms.”

 

He takes the blankets and the bag from her with what he hopes is an appreciative smile, but the wind is blowing snow and ice inside and he’s practically naked at the moment.

  


“Thanks. We’ll return them in the morn--” He’s interrupted by Stiles yelping behind him. He turns to see him still fairly wet from the shower and wearing nothing but a fairly small fluffy white towel.

 

The check-in girl giggles and shuts the door before either Stiles or himself can say anything.

 

“I was not expecting this,” is all Stiles says as he walks towards the bed.

 

He barely stops himself from snorting and instead throws the blankets at Stiles. He sits the bag down and slips into the bathroom for his own shower.

 

When he comes out some time later, Stiles is huddled in blankets on one side of the bed, a television remote sticking out right under his chin. The volume is low on the tv, playing some sort of animated Disney movie that he only vaguely recognises.

 

“What are you, six?” He’s not even sure why he says it, but Stiles seems unperturbed.

 

“It’s this or Latina Lovers 6, and I’m fairly certain watching lesbian porn is a bit much for tonight.” Stiles pipes up in a tone that is much too cheery for this time of night. He watches Stiles for a minute, the thought going through his head that all Stiles is missing right then is red licorice to chew on.

 

It’s a disconcerting thought, and he pulls away to see how dry the clothes have gotten. It doesn’t help.

 

They don’t talk about the fact they’re about to share a bed, it’s just an understood something between them. It makes him a little uneasy, the idea of sharing a bed with anyone does. But there is only one bed, and he really doesn’t like the idea of either of them sleeping on the floor here.

 

So they end up sitting next to each other on the bed, neither one of them dressed very much and both of them covered in separate blankets.

 

“I wish we had licorice,” Stiles says as he flips through the mostly static channels once the movie is over. He feels incredibly strange then, wondering just when he started to know Stiles _that well._

 

“Oh, _Iron Man_. We are totally watching this.”

 

Stiles does watch _Iron Man_ , even though it’s probably close to four in the morning and they’re both exhausted. He doesn’t watch much of the movie himself, mostly only turning back to it when he realises he’s staring at Stiles. Again.

 

A phone suddenly goes off and startles both of them enough that they end up smacking their shoulders together. Stiles winces, and then blindly searches for the ringing phone.

 

“Hello?”

 

He tunes out the phone call as soon as he hears the Sheriff reassuring Stiles that everything was fine back in Beacon Hills except for the fact that Scott didn’t know where he was.

 

And yeah, that gave him _plenty_ to think about.

 

It wasn’t like he’d expected Stiles to drop everything and race to pick him up, let alone not tell anyone. And yeah, it sounded like the sheriff was aware of what Stiles was doing. But he’d meant for him to pick him up as soon as he had nothing else planned, and pre arranged hanging out with Scott sounded a lot like having plans.

 

As soon as Stiles hangs up, it occurs to him that Stiles drove the fourteen hours to pick him up and then another six to bring him back and he hasn’t slept at all since before then. He reaches for the remote and switches the television off before Stiles can go back to it.

 

“Get some sleep.” He phrases it as a command, not a request. Stiles looks like he wants to argue, but then nods instead.

 

He turns away from Stiles and stares at the wall. He doesn’t sleep, not yet. Instead, he wonders how much sleep that Stiles has gotten in the past few days, weeks, months. Since Scott was bitten and everything changed. Once Stiles’ breathing slows and he can tell he’s asleep, Derek closes his eyes and succumbs to sleep himself.

 


	2. Chapter 2

By the time he time he wakes up, it’s just shy of nine in the morning, and Stiles is still heavily asleep. He’s also sprawled across him, the blankets still mostly between them making it uncomfortably hot. He’s hesitant to wake him given his lack of sleep, so instead he attempts to move him off carefully. The attempt fails, but he does manage to shift the blankets off his chest. It still leaves him with Stiles’ arm wrapped awkwardly around him, but at least it’s not as stifling.

 

Seeing the both of them in the mirror above the bed makes him rethink his position, as it does untold things to him. Things he does not want to think about. He pushes Stiles’ shoulder perhaps a little too hard, and Stiles jerks awake with flailing limbs and an accidental elbow to Derek’s face.

 

It isn’t pleasant.

 

After Derek washes the blood from his nose off his face, the both of them dress in a fairly awkward silence. Their clothes are mostly dry, and the addition of the heavy coats the check-in girl had brought them keeps them warm as soon as they traipse outside. The snow has stopped and the wind has mostly died down, but there is still a lot of snow. The drift around the jeep is enough that without exposing himself, they’ll probably need a couple shovels and half an hour of work just to get it out.

 

“Good morning, boys. I see you’ve noticed that we’re all stuck for the moment?” It’s the check-in girl again.

 

She’s holding a coffee cup in gloved hands and grinning, but she doesn’t wait for a reply. “The county trucks should be by to clear the road after eleven. In the mean time, you can come in for vending machine muffins and coffee if you like. Most of the other guests have already partaken and retreated to their rooms.”

 

They do follow her into the office, where Stiles pigs out on muffins and they both drink a cup of coffee. Once they’re done, Stiles pipes up an offer to help unbury cars since neither of them have anything better to do. He can’t help the low growl he sends towards Stiles, but the response to it is only an even wider grin.

 

An hour and a half later, they've uncovered six cars enough to pull out once the roads are clear, including the jeep. They're both fairly exhausted, but the check-in girl slips them both fifty dollars. He's not sure if it comes from the motel or her own pocket, but he's also not about to ask.

 

He's about to suggest they head inside for coffee and warm up when he's hit square in the face with a snowball. Stiles bursts out laughing, leaning over his shovel.

 

He growls and looks around to see a group of four kids around the eight-ten-twelve age in various states of horror and utter glee.

 

"Sorry! I was aiming for my brother!" The girl in the group pipes up. He can't be mad at her, even though he really hates being hit in the face with snow. Instead he turns and glares at Stiles for laughing at him.

 

They turn back to shoveling when Stiles lets out a surprised yelp, then wipes snow off his face. Derek can't help the snort of laughter that bursts out.

 

"Oh, it's on!" Stiles lets out a battle cry that's almost as funny as the noise he made when he got hit with a snowball.

 

He's not sure exactly how it happens, but within minutes, both Stiles and himself are lobbing snowballs at the group of kids--the group of kids growing steadily larger as other guests' children and even a parent or two join in.

 

It's a steady sort of tandem they get going together--dodging behind parked cars, making snowballs, throwing them--and they mostly hold their own against the large group on the other side of the parking lot. The giggling children and laughing adults make an unexpectedly nice backdrop to the snow play. After awhile, it occurs to Derek suddenly that he doesn't only not remember the last time he had a snowball fight, but he doesn't remember the last time he was this happy. It sits a little uneasily in his stomach until he's hit with friendly fire in the face.

 

The new eruption of peals of children laughing is the only thing that stops him from getting angry with Stiles.

 

“You were totally spacing out. It couldn’t be helped.”

 

Derek glares at him before an idea comes to mind. Stiles looks a little wary, but all that does it make him smirk. Within a few seconds, he moves forward and Stiles falls backwards, flailing ungracefully into a rather large snowdrift.

 

He can’t help the huff of laughter that comes out. It’s not quite what he intended, but it’s payback all the same. He offers him a hand, and Stiles glares, briefly, before taking it.

 

The ground is icy though, and Derek slips while helping him up. They fall into the snow, hands still clasped. Stiles lands halfway on top of him, and it’s not as awkward as it should be. Derek cuts off his thoughts about _how he feels on top of him_ , and has to ball his free hand into a fist to stop himself from _doing something about it_.

 

“Dude, we end up like this a lot.”

 

Derek doesn’t disagree.

 

They both finally manage to get up and separate without falling down again, and the barrage of snowballs coming towards them resume.

 

Stiles is laughing as he lob a snowball at the giggling children. Derek can’t help the smile he can feel spreading across his face at the sight of it. He refuses to think about anything else, not the pack, not what’s waiting ahead for them, nothing. He doesn’t think he’ll get another chance to do something like this just for the sake of doing it.

 

He’s not sure Stiles will either.

 

He makes another snowball, and jumps back into the fray.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Despite the weather having been calm over the morning hours, by the time the snowplow finally makes it through to the road it is snowing heavily again. The wind is bitter and cold and strong, and Derek is forced to admit that attempting to leave now would probably be a colossal mistake.

 

The check-in girl, " _Call me Kat--I know that's not what my name tag says, but that's mostly because it's not my name tag,_ " had ushered everyone who wasn't insane enough to take off in the blizzard inside their respective rooms with promises to bring lunch by, but it's after one in the afternoon before she finally knocks on their door. Stiles is napping in the nest of blankets on the bed, and Derek has spent most of the past fifteen minutes on the phone in an uncomfortable conversation with his sister.

 

Kat is holding a plastic bag in either hand when he opens the door. Her hair, having fallen loose from her hat, is tangled from the wind and coated in fluffy white snow.

 

"These are totally just TV dinners in styrofoam containers. If we're still snowed in this evening, I have permission to break into the big freezer and use the office kitchen to make something else. Anyway, if you and your boyfriend don't have any allergies, I have your lunch ready."

 

Derek feels his cheeks heat up, but refuses to think about it.

 

"He's not my--" he cuts himself off at her completely mortified and embarrassed look and takes a bag from her.

 

"I am so sorry. I just... After the stuff in the snow... There is bottled water in the bag too. I'm just going to go now."

 

Kat escapes the room, the door slamming closed behind her.

 

The noise startles Stiles awake.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't explain to Stiles why he was blushing--and Stiles has assured him several times that he was totally blushing--and instead eats his chicken nuggets. He's fairly certain it's from a children's TV dinner because the brownie that came with it has sprinkles, but he doesn't complain. Stiles has the same one as he does.

 

Derek takes care of the trash while Stiles figures out how to get out of the tangle of blankets and sheets. They are both silent for several long minutes, and it feels incredibly strange.

 

"Dude, the weather isn't supposed to let up until like 3 am."

 

"Don't call me dude. And how do you know that?"

 

He feels fairly stupid as soon as he asks. Stiles tilts his phone his direction with a smug look on his face.

 

"I totally need to call my dad. And probably Scott. Did you talk to Cora?"

 

Derek stiffens. It's an instinctual response, even though he knows Stiles couldn't know what happened in Washington.

 

Stiles picks up on it though. He wishes he was more surprised.

 

"Something happened with her, didn't it? Is she okay?"

 

He doesn't want to answer. Everything feels too taut in his head.

 

"She's fine."

 

He doesn't stay long enough to hear his response.

 

* * *

 

The Jeep is cold, and it doesn't start. It's not like he intended to leave but starting it would kick the heat on at least.

 

He sits in it for what feels like ages, until his feet and hands start to go numb with the cold, and his ears ache.

 

He finds a pack of cards under the edge of the seat when he gets out and brings them back inside with him.

 

Stiles is sitting on the floor against the wall on the far side of the bed when he comes back in. He's twirling a pen between his fingers in a practiced motion, but he's staring straight ahead with a look in his eyes that practically screams not all there. He doesn't look at him at all.

 

It's disconcerting.

 

"You can't run just because a topic is hard, you know."

 

He wants to snort at that, but he doesn't. It's too practiced to be something Stiles thought up himself--more like something he's been told before.

 

"I found a pack of cards in the jeep."

 

Stiles blinks a few times, before finally turning his direction.

 

"You want to play cards?" He highly doubts that that's what Stiles meant to say, but he takes it anyway.

 

"What else are we going to do? Braid each other's hair and have a pillow fight?"

 

He's not sure why _that_ comes out of his mouth, but the burst of laughter from Stiles breaks the uneasy tension and makes him feel like less of a failure. It's... nice.

 

"We are totally playing goldfish. You can pick the next game." Stiles says with a grin as he flops back on the bed.

 

"Goldfish?" He's not sure what goldfish is. He'd played go fish and old maid with his siblings growing up, which he thought most kids did. But maybe his family had different card games than most families--it’s not like he went from family to family as a child to figure out what they played.

 

"Yeah! Have you never played? It’s a kid’s card game.” Stiles looks unbelievably content, and Derek tries hard not to think about why that is.

 

He also tries (and fails) not to think about what Stiles smells like (licorice and buttered popcorn, wet clothes that haven’t properly dried out, and _Stiles, just Stiles_ ).

 

He’s thankful in that short break from speech, that Stiles is not a werewolf and cannot hear his heart’s sudden decision to race _for no reason other than him._

 

Derek doesn’t know why he’s nervous. That’s as far as he’ll take the thought.

 

“We used to play old maid and go fish as a family.” Stiles stares up at him for a moment, his eyes searching. Derek sits at the end of the bed, dropping the deck of cards in front of him.

 

“So you have played goldfish. Cool.” He picks up the deck and slides the cards out of the box. They’re arranged in order, like they’re new, but Derek can see how worn the edges have become from use.

 

“Dude, I’m totally a pro at shuffling. My mom taught me how to do it when I was a kid. I only ever played with her and Scott, but...”

 

Stiles trails off, looking down at his hands as he shuffles the cards. He doesn’t bring up the fact that Stiles called him dude again, even though he wants to. Derek can hear him swallow slowly before he looks back up.

 

“Seven or ten?” If Stiles’ voice cracks a little, Derek doesn’t say anything about it.

 

“Seven?” He answers. Stiles grins up at him again.

  
And so they play. It throws him off the first time Stiles says “goldfish” instead of “go fish” and Stiles smirks the first time Derek says “go fish”, but there is a current of understanding between them. It’s a game they both learned from someone who has been gone for a long time, and it's as if playing it they way they grew up learning is somehow honoring them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was unbelievably difficult. Grah. The last two chapters should come much, much faster, as they're half written already. <3 Enjoy!

Derek’s attempt at shuffling ends up in disaster. He’s not sure which of them starts laughing first, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take long for either one of them to edge into a hysterical laughter that complete guts them both.

  
It’s apparent to him then that neither one of them has been dealing with what happened in remotely the right way. He’s not sure what the right way is, but Stiles abandoning his friends for a twenty-eight hour drive and breaking into hysterical laughter for _ **no real reason** _ definitely _isn’t_ the right way.

 

Neither is running, which is all Derek has done since the fire. He knows it, he hates it, and for the first time he’s truly glad he asked Stiles to pick him up and not anyone else.

 

Out of those who would actually do it, Stiles is the one who understands Derek the most without even trying. And Stiles needed to get away for awhile just as much as Derek had, Derek did.

 

Things won’t be the same between them after this. Derek knows this. They cannot be the same. Things have changed, are changing, won’t _stop_ changing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re sitting in a quiet, awkward silence when the overhead light suddenly flickers out, casting the room into complete dark.

 

“ _Seriously_?" Stiles groans out. Derek reaches over to turn the bedside table lamp on but nothing happens. the power going out is the last thing they need.

 

“Do you want to see if the whole hotel is out? Or just to sit in the dark?” Stiles asks sarcastically.

 

“Shut up,” Derek replies, heading toward the door. He pulls open the blinds, letting in the meager natural light.

 

* * *

 

All the work they had done shoveling the snow onto the path of the Jeep seemed to be counterproductive. There was a lot more snow in the parking lot and drifted up against the building and the vehicles.

 

Derek trudges through the snow towards the office, looking around briefly see if any other lights were out. The neon open vacancy sign in the office is dull, obviously without power.

 

“There’s not much we can do about the power I’m afraid, the storm knocked it out. We’re doing all we can but it might be a while. Are you and your...  friend doing okay?”

 

“We’re fine. Do you expect it to be out all night?”

 

“Well to be honest, yeah, most likely. We have a generator but it doesn’t really seem to be working all that well right now. I’m guessing the owner didn’t think to do the periodic tests to make sure the generators working. I am really not sure, sorry.”

 

“Do you have any candles?” Stiles suddenly says. He hadn’t realized that Stiles had followed him, but he isn’t terribly surprised either. Derek isn’t exactly _at hi_ _s best_ right now.

 

“I’ve got a few. I can give you one or two but I should really save the rest for the families with kids.” Kat says, reaching under the desk she was sitting behind and pulling out two thick pillar candles. She hands them and a book of matches over, smiling up at them as she did.

 

They thank Kat and head back to their room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s mostly silent for what seems like hours, but Derek is aware that it hasn’t been more than twenty minutes. It’s not even the first time that day that Stiles has been still, but it continues to be  strange.

 

Silence just seems to drag on when Stiles involved. Derek knows that Stiles is more than capable of being silent, he’s seen Stiles silent in natural circumstances. Although sometimes silence fits Stiles, it seems most natural for the loud cacophony of words and movement to protrude from him--to be a _part_ of him--a natural inclination of who he is.

 

“Derek?” Stiles’ voice is _quiet_.

 

Derek doesn’t know what to think about that, what do think about well, _anything_ , that’s happened in the hours since Stiles showed up in his jeep with a smile on his face that didn’t quite meet his eyes, still doesn’t.

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Why did you ask me?”

  
  
  


“That’s...” That’s an excellent question. But it’s not one that’s quite so... easily answered.

 

 _Of everyone left in Beacon Hills, you were the one I knew would come_ is the answer that doesn’t come.

 

“I don’t know,” is the answer that does.

 

“You’re _lying_ ,” Stiles says in response, as if he could read Derek like an open book.

 

He doesn’t know how to reply to that, and almost doesn’t bother responding at all.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“I… guess not.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Are we going to sit in silence the rest of the afternoon? ‘Cuz seriously dude, I don’t think I can handle that.”

 

“It’s almost sunset already, Stiles. And I’m impressed you lasted this long.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They return to cards not long afterwards, and its Stiles who shuffles them as they play. Derek doesn’t even attempt to suggest doing it again, and Stiles doesn’t offer the deck to him either.

 

They play goldfish, and then war and slapjack. The games are easy and fun--children’s games--and totally not the kinds of games that anyone would expect them to sit and play, let alone together.

 

But it was nice. It was nice to sit in a place far removed from _everything_ and to banter, joke, act like children. It was nice to _not be an_ adult for awhile.

 

The storm got worse as the afternoon faded into night, and made the room even darker than it had been. It was getting colder, and Stiles had moved the cards to the bed where they were currently playing huddled in a mass of blankets.

 

Stiles lit the pink (overly fake floral) candle first, saving the vanilla one for later. It didn’t light the room up much and they both knew they’d have to abandon the cards before long.

 

The sudden ringing of his phone didn’t startle them as much as it could have, but Stiles still managed to jump a little.

 

“Hello?”

 

_“My son still with you, Hale?”_

 

“He’s right here, sir,” he answers, handing his phone to Stiles. Stiles gives him a funny look but takes it.

 

“Hello--Dad?”

 

_“I assume you won’t be back anytime soon, Stiles?”_

 

“You didn’t get my text?”

 

_“Stiles.”_

“Got stuck in another storm. We didn’t even get to leave the motel.”

 

Derek tunes them out, taking the break in the game to layer back up to head outside. The snow is a thick and heavy blanket over everything, drifted up against the door. It’s not very high, but Derek can tell by looking around that it’s drifted worse against other rooms, especially the office.

 

He shuts the door without going outside, and takes the heavy coat back off.

 

“I got a few hours.”

 

_“Really?”_

_“_ Yeah. I slept some this afternoon too. Look, can we talk about this later?”

 

_“As soon as you’re home, kid. Love you.”_

 

“Love you too.” Stiles hangs up Derek’s phone and drops it on the bed. Derek walks back, watching Stiles and the way he flexes his hands tightly around the blankets a few times before he looks up.

 

“It’s too dark to play anymore,” is all Stiles says. Derek nods as he sits on the bed again. Stiles takes the time to gather the cards back up and slid them into the box.

 

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, neither of them looking at the other. It feels strange again, and Derek doesn’t know how to _fix_ it.

 

But Stiles apparently does.

 

“Do you know any stories? Like wolfy fairy tales or ghost stories? Because this is _boring_.”

 

And if Derek snorts at that, that’s his business.

 

 


End file.
